He passed on, talked to Mary for a little, and found her gentle commonplaces a balm. She never said anything that you could label as wise or witty. She looked with her friendly eyes, and her voice was like running water, clear, and cool, and sweet. Algy esteemed James a lucky fellow.
When he saw Mr. Brewster rise not very gracefully from his cushion at Sylvia’s feet, he crossed over, sped Cyril on his way and annexed the vacant place. Sylvia, vaguely embarrassed, seemed about to be gone. Algy smiled at her.
“Do stay and talk to me, Lady Colesborough. Has he been warning you against me? Do tell me.”
Sylvia responded with a smile, a little nervously, and said,
“Oh, no.”
“I’m not really dangerous, you know, and we got on beautifully the other night, didn’t we? Now let’s talk about the country. Why do you hate it?”
“We were so poor,” said Sylvia with simplicity.
Algy liked her for that. He pursued his ordered way. A very good reason.
“But do you hate it when you’re not poor? You were at Wellings last week, weren’t you? Do you hate a place like that? It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” said Sylvia doubtfully. “In summer it might be. I like lights in the streets, and plenty of shops, and people.”
Algy laughed. She looked like the sun and the moon and the stars, but she didn’t like those things. She liked people and shops. He said,
“I expect there were plenty of people at Wellings, weren’t there?”
“Well, it wasn’t a big party.”
“Who did you have?”
“Well, Poppy and Buffo-but of course it’s their house. You know them, don’t you?”
“Just a little.”
“She has the most divine clothes.” Sylvia’s eyes waked into starry beauty. “She designs them herself, you know, and I can’t think how she does it. I do think clever people are marvellous-don’t you?”
“They’re a menace,” said Algy. “I always avoid them. Who else did you have?”
“Well, his brother-Buffo’s brother Binks-and his wife, Constance. She isn’t a bit like Poppy.”
“And you and your husband?”
“Yes, but Francis was late for dinner because he couldn’t get away-business is so tiresome that way-so I had to go down alone.”
“The Lushingtons were there, weren’t they?”
Sylvia nodded.
“They had just arrived when I got there, but we had to go off and dress for dinner almost at once.”
She was quite pleased to prattle. With a very little trouble Algy discovered the geography of the house and the whereabouts of the guests. There was an east wing and a west wing. Buffo and Poppy were in the west wing, and so were Binks and Constance. The Lushingtons had the big suite at the end of the east wing, and the Colesboroughs were next to them-“And we each had a room and a bathroom. You know, it’s dreadful how few bathrooms we’ve got at Cole Lester-only three besides our own two, and I can’t get Francis to see that it isn’t enough.”
They talked earnestly about bathrooms, and presently Algy got her back to Wellings again. It was possible to get her back, but not possible to keep her there. She broke away in the middle of a sentence and said,
“You’re a friend of Gay’s, aren’t you?”
Algy said, “Yes,” and wondered if it was true. He was Gay’s friend last night, but last night was a long time ago. They stood together in the dark with anger flashing between them-hot anger-hot, dangerous anger. And someone had put Monty’s envelope in his pocket, and Monty was being pressed to look no farther than his own household for the thief. Last night was a long way off. He wondered whether he was Gay’s friend today, and he said,
“Oh, yes.”
Sylvia went on babbling about Gay.
XI
Gay waked with a start to realize that the telephone bell was ringing. She said something short and sharp, sat up, and switched on the light. Her watch made it half past twelve, an hour which seems quite early when you are out but feels like the middle of the night when you have gone to bed. It felt like the middle of the night to Gay. Who in this world and all could be ringing up at such a ghastly time? She sat listening and hoping against hope that the thing hadn’t rung, or that, having rung without getting an answer, it wouldn’t ring again.
It rang again-a very persevering effort.
Gay ran barefoot down the stairs, switching on lights as she went, a dressing-gown hung dolman-fashion across her shoulders and clutched together in front. Aunt Agatha would sleep through a duet between Big Ben and the Westminster Chimes. The staff firmly disregarded any telephone call between eleven at night and seven in the morning.
The bell was still ringing when Gay snatched the receiver and said in an abusive whisper.
“Who are you?”
But of course she might have guessed. Sylvia said in a plaintive voice,
“Oh, darling, you do sound cross.”
“Homicidal!” said Gay. “What’s the matter? Do you know what time it is?”
“Darling, it’s quite early.”
“That’s because you’re turning night into day. I was in bed and asleep, and I haven’t even got my dressing-gown on properly. I’ve come down five flights of stairs, and the temperature is somewhere round about zero.”
She heard Sylvia catch her breath.
“Darling, how did you hear it up five flights of stairs?”
This was pressure upon a wound. Gay spoke with bitterness.
“I didn’t-no one could. That’s why Aunt Agatha had a bell fixed up on my floor. It’s supposed to be for the staff, but they just won’t. Is this a talk on telephones, or do you really want anything?”
“Oh, I do.” Sylvia’s voice changed. “Gay, I’m so frightened-I just had to ring you up.”
“What are you frightened of? What have you been doing?”
“Nothing-I haven’t really. But I shall have to. It’s-it’s so dreadful to have it coming nearer and nearer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You see, I’ve been out all day. I went shopping with Poppy, and we lunched together, and then we watched a mannequin show, and I had three cocktail parties, and I was going to dine with Mr. Brewster but fortunately I remembered about being engaged to Linda, and Francis had gone off to Birmingham or somewhere, so I took Mr. Brewster instead. And I liked it awfully. I wore my gold dress, you know, and I had a lot of compliments-”
“Sylly, what are you talking about?”
“Linda Westgate’s party. Oh, and your Algy Somers was there.”
Gay denied him with vehemence.
“He’s not my Algy Somers!”
“Oh, I thought he was.” Sylvia was vague and amiable. “But perhaps you’d better not, because Linda and Francis wouldn’t like it if I let him take me out. No, really-she meant there was something wrong, only she wouldn’t tell me what it was, and Mr. Brewster wouldn’t either.”
“Sylly, this is pure drivel. Have you got anything to say or haven’t you? Because if you have, get on with it, and if you haven’t, I’m going back to bed. There isn’t any central heating in this house, and I’ve probably got frost-bite already.”
Sylvia, in a temperature mounting to 70°, was without sympathy.
“You see,” she pursued, “I quite forgot about it all day-at least not quite but almost-but as soon as I came in and got up to my own room I felt dreadful again, because I know he’ll make me do it, and I simply can’t think what will happen if Francis finds out. And he will-I’m sure he will. He-he guesses things, and comes down on you like lightning.”
“Sylly, listen!” Gay spoke firmly. “You’re not to do anything at all. If this man wants you to take papers for him, you’re not to do it.”
“I shall have to-he’ll tell Francis if I don’t.”
“Tell Francis yourself, then you’ll be all clear. If you take these papers you’ll be in the worst hole you’ve ever been in in your life.”